Other Fish in the Sea
1.
With sand arms she woke
covering herself with a
fidget of seaweed.
The first night was a
granite tomb over her, the
second night banged like
a firecracker, all
the stars clustered about her
unwashed cut glass hair.
Cave dweller listens
to the drifting static of
a sewing box world,
stitch together the
thunderous purple sky and
the soft as milk ground.
Night demon watches
Proteus fill the ocean and
Gaia lay flowers,
she hears the first man
attempt a whistle for his
new missing rib love.
2.
Bewitcher lays on
her back listening to the
seas being poured from
a pitcher watching
her breasts rise up and down as
she breathes pallid air,
listening for dregs
watching for remnants, she would
rather breath sulphur.
---
The Unrecognisable
God is in the cash
for gold city for no good
reason, he shuffles
unrecognised, grey.
He doesn't talk to strangers, the
viciousness of eyes
on copulating
sewn fools juggling acid jars
and Indian ink.
God has purple eyes
for no good reason, instinct
tells you he sucks in
colour and spits out
masking fluid gone solid,
he feared touching the
wall for else he would
throw up a map of the stars
and coffee filters.
God has guts made of
blancmange and red liquorice,
he laid one thorn hand
on an old rock star.
God's shiny flying harness
that lets him view you
from above the gulls
circling for lumps of mother
for no good reason
has the power to
warm tea in a microwave,
biscuits on request.
God has a spray can
and he sits with all the lost
brass girls of Pop art,
all the lost girls that
stuck their heads in their ovens,
and all the lost girls,
and all the lost girls...
And all those girls wandering
off in the ether.
God is in no fit
state, drinking tea with the tramps
on Archibald Street,
shooting craps with the
dogs for coins fifty years out
of circulation
and pained by losing.
God plays the banjolele and
gives us a chipped, off
key 'Count Your Blessings'
and, weary, smiles. God was an
old man with pale eyes.
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